War Stories
by elbcw
Summary: Someone is watching Athos, at least he thinks they are. But why?
1. Chapter 1

Authors note: This is Athos centric. It is so Athos centric you will wonder where the other three are. Everyone gets a whumping, some more than others. But Athos gets the most, all the way through. Did I say that this is Athos centric? Hint: this is Athos centric.

War Stories

Chapter One

It was a disconcerting feeling. He could not put his finger on what the problem was, but it felt odd. He wondered why he felt so unnerved. He was a Musketeer, a soldier. He had fought in battle, he had helped to quell riots and uprisings in the city and yet, at this precise moment, walking towards the garrison with one of his closest friends he felt perturbed. He glanced behind him for a second, there was nothing suspicious about the street behind them. Parisians going about their daily business, nothing to concern him and yet he was still sure he was being watched.

'What is the matter with you?' asked Aramis a slight tone of exasperation in his voice.

Athos looked across at his friend who was eyeing him with concern.

'That is at least the third time you've looked behind, who are you expecting to see?'

Athos realised he was being over cautious, of course people were watching him, he was a soldier, people always watched soldiers. Some people were pleased to see them walk by, some were wary, but people watched.

'Sorry, I did not think you would mind if I was doing my job, of looking out for trouble makers.'

Aramis did not look terribly convinced with Athos' reason, but he did not say anything further. They continued to walk in silence.

Athos had considered telling Aramis why he was looking around so frequently but, much as he trusted his brother, he did not want to become the subject of any mockery. Even if it was meant in jest, he did not want to give Aramis and the others any fuel to tease him with. He would deal with his uneasy feeling on his own.

MMMM

Treville had them gathered in the garrison courtyard, he stood on the steps and surveyed the group. Athos could tell he had unpleasant news for them. Treville always had an uneasy look about him when he was going to tell them something he knew they would not want to hear.

'The King has imposed another, small, hike in the taxes,' he said, pausing as some of the Musketeers shifted and murmured their annoyance, 'it goes without saying that this will not be received well by the people…I expect some unrest. I intend to increase patrols and make our presence felt across the city.'

Porthos glanced across to the others and smirked, 'guess we might have some actual work to do?'

'It has been rather quiet of late,' remarked Aramis in reply.

Athos considered that having to deal with some unruly Parisians might take his mind of the constant uneasy feeling of being watched. For once he welcomed the chance to get his hands dirty dealing with the unhappy populous. Generally, he felt nothing but sympathy for the hardworking people who were so unfairly treated by their King, but at this moment the idea of being distracted was inviting.

Treville sent them off in groups about the city. The four of them were assigned to patrol one of the larger market areas. The market was busy, traders plying their business as normal, they got the impression the news of the tax increases had not filtered down to all the people. They knew the mood would change over the coming days.

Athos tried to walk in his usual slightly brisk manner but found he still needed to continually check about himself. Did he see someone dart off around a corner there? Was that man following him? Who was that standing half hidden behind a stall?

He had to remind himself, not for the first time, that he was a soldier. And soldiers were not paranoid. Except, he was paranoid. And he wished for the feeling to dissipate.

MMMM

The others had been a little surprised when he did not join them at the tavern for drinks when their day was finished. He had made a feeble excuse and waved Aramis off when he had asked if he was feeling ill. It had only been a short walk back to his rooms but he had moved quickly, unable to hide his haste and wish to be off the street and away from the unseen foe that seemed to be everywhere. He wanted nothing more than to be alone. It was becoming increasingly difficult to hide his discomfort.

As he reached the door to his rooms he looked over his shoulder, there was nobody there. Why would there be? He was not being followed, no one was watching him.

He pushed the door open, entered his rooms and locked the door. He glanced across at a chair and contemplated leaning it against the door as an added barrier. But that would be taking it too far he thought.

As he took off his hat and removed his weapons belt he looked about the room. Nothing was out of place, nothing was missing, but it felt wrong. He drew his gun and slowly moved through the two rooms. His breathing had quickened and he felt nervous. There was no one there. But he could not help thinking there had been.

Was he going mad? Was this some sign of lunacy? Delusions, anxiety and fear. What was wrong with him?

MMMM

He did not sleep well. He always slept with a weapon within easy reach, but he had woken many times during the night, his hand reaching for his gun. At one point he had risen from his bed, grabbed the gun and rushed to the door, pulling it open and finding nothing on the other side.

As he walked to the garrison, earlier than he would do normally he still had the feeling he was being watched. With none of his brothers to notice, he increased his glances behind. But he never saw anything suspicious.

Was it time to tell someone his fear? He did not want to appear weak, agitated by ghosts and shadows. No. He had to work through whatever was causing the issue on his own.

He rounded the corner and walked into the courtyard. He was alone, he crossed to the table and sat down. He poured himself a cup of water and realised his hand was shaking as he put the cup to his lips.

This was ridiculous. Why was this affecting him so much? He had to push the thoughts away, go back to being his stoic normal self. The others had already noticed he was behaving differently. He decided he would make a concerted effort to behave as the others would expect him to.

When he felt a hand on his shoulder his reaction was anything but normal.

MMMM

D'Artagnan walked across the garrison yard towards Athos who was sat at the table, his back towards him. The man appeared to be very deep in thought. Athos had seemed a little distracted of late, which was unusual for the swordsman. When he had not joined them at the tavern it had surprised them all. Even if he had stalked off into a corner to drink alone at least he would have been with them, they had watched him walk away towards his rooms, a slight agitation to his step as he went. Aramis had taken a couple of steps after him, but been stopped by Porthos who said that Athos was probably best left alone. They had agreed between them to keep an eye on him.

Athos had not looked up as D'Artagnan approached, he reached out and lay a hand on his friend's shoulder. The reaction from Athos was such a surprise that d'Artagnan could not react.

Athos grabbed his wrist and twisted his arm around pulling it hard up behind his back. Athos had sprung from the bench and forced him a few paces into the nearest wooden post with such force that the air was knocked from him. It took him a few seconds to realise Athos had drawn his main gauche and was pressing it to his neck. Athos was breathing hard, pushing him against the beam.

As suddenly as the attack had started, Athos stopped. He stumbled back a couple of paces. D'Artagnan turned, he rubbed at his shoulder and arm as he did so. He stared at Athos whilst he caught his breath.

Athos looked shocked at what he had done. His eyes were unfocused, he blinked several times before finally looked at d'Artagnan. He opened his mouth to speak but did not seem able to find the words.

Once d'Artagnan was able to breath normally he stepped away from the post and took a couple of steps towards Athos unable to hide his concern. He knew that Athos had not intended to attack him, there must be something else that caused the usually calm man to react in such a violent manner.

'Are you OK?' he asked.

He stopped in front of Athos for a second, before gently guiding the still shocked looking musketeer back to the bench and pushing him to sit down.

'I'm sorry…I…'

'Who did you think I was?'

Athos looked up at d'Artagnan for a few seconds. He was clearly struggling to make his mind up about something.

'I can't help you if you don't tell me what's going on.'

Athos sighed, 'I have been getting the feeling that…that someone is following me.'

D'Artagnan was not quite sure how to react. He moved to sit on the bench next to Athos, he picked up the cup of water and handed it to his friend. Athos' hand was shaking when he took the cup. The reaction most unlike the normally steady man.

'How long has this been going on for?'

'A couple of weeks…I know it is ridiculous but I cannot escape the feeling that I am being watched and followed.'

D'Artagnan realised it must have been difficult for Athos to relate the problem to him. His friend looked a little ashamed. It was quite odd to see Athos looking so lost.

'Who do you think it is?'

'I have no idea. I do not believe anyone has a particular grudge against me…I don't know, it is probably nothing.'

Athos appeared to be trying to brush off the incident, but d'Artagnan could tell it was clearly bothering the man very much. He looked up as Porthos and Aramis strolled into the yard, Porthos was laughing at something Aramis had told him.

Athos looked at d'Artagnan, more than a hint of embarrassment and worry in his eyes. D'Artagnan shook his head, he would not say anything to the others.

MMMM

They were again dispatched to patrol the market. The news of the tax increase had started to filter down to the people of Paris. Athos could almost see the news being spread like a wave rolling up a shore line. Some people looked crestfallen others were immediately angry looking for some way to fight back. This was what they were looking out for.

They needed to stop any potential trouble before it got out of hand. If they could calm any particularly determined protests before they gathered pace they could maintain peace on the streets. But it would be no easy feat. There had already been a few small skirmishes in other parts of the city. It was only a matter of time before more people began to protest.

He became aware of a group of young men who had gathered, one was talking animatedly, with the others nodding their agreement. He and d'Artagnan approached them, stopping a few paces away.

'What do you want?' asked one of the young man, he was holding a blacksmith's hammer loosely at his side.

'For you to disperse and go about your business,' replied d'Artagnan his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. They did not want to encourage violence, but they wanted the men to know they would retaliate if necessary.

The group of men turned towards them, puffing out their chests as they did so. It was clear that this was not going to end peacefully. Athos was aware of Porthos and Aramis crossing the market to join them.

'Let's not make this difficult, lads,' said Porthos as he reached them.

One of the other men took a step forward raising the iron bar he was holding, Porthos reacted by drawing his sword. The reactions of the two men was the catalyst for the rest of the group to surge forward.

They drew their swords in unison, joining Porthos. The four of them were soon engaged in fighting the group of young men. It was not something Athos enjoyed doing, the men were simply protesting the unfair treatment they were receiving from people who did not understand what happened in the real world. These were people who worked hard to live, they had little money and, in Athos' opinion had every right to be annoyed at their treatment.

Aramis and Porthos moved off to the left drawing three of the men with them. D'Artagnan was facing two men, the one with the hammer and a scrawny lad with a broken piece of wood. Athos was fending off the man with the iron bar.

He was holding back, he did not want to hurt the man, his only goal was to wear the man out, to prevent him doing something he would regret. He had not even needed to draw his main gauche. They had moved to the corner of the market. He and d'Artagnan were fighting side by side. D'Artagnan had easily knocked the piece of wood from the scrawny lad's hand. The young man, barely more than a boy, had run off, Athos hoped he was not getting reinforcements.

A tall broad man appeared behind the man with the bar. He grabbed the man and threw him against a wall. Athos took a step forward as the tall man turned towards him, he could not see the man's face, a hood pulled down low hiding him. The man with the bar scrambled up and ran off. Athos was about to thank the man, tell him his intervention was appreciated but not necessary when the man pushed him into the wall. The move was unexpected. Athos reacted by trying to push back, but the man, several inches taller than himself and of a much heavier build easily kept him pinned against the wall.

Athos kicked the man in the shin, the man reacted by pulling him forward and throwing him back against the stone wall, hard. His head hit the wall, stunning him, the man let him go. Athos could not coordinate his legs as he slipped to the floor, his vision blurring. He knew he was concussed, as his vision continued to fade he was aware of the man turning towards d'Artagnan who was coming to Athos' aid.

D'Artagnan wielded his sword but the big man brushed it aside and stepped towards the young musketeer. As Athos slipped into unconsciousness the last image he saw was of the man punching d'Artagnan to the ground and kicking him viciously.

MMMM


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

They had easily scared off the young protesters. But the mood within the marketplace was frosty. It was obvious that their presence was not helping the situation. They needed to withdraw and return in force. A display of numbers would hopefully maintain the peace.

Porthos looked across the market in the direction he had last seen Athos and d'Artagnan fighting. He could not see his brothers. He walked over, Aramis joining him after a few seconds. As they neared the corner of the market Aramis gasped then broke into a run. Porthos followed wondering what had caught the marksman's attention. He soon saw the cause of Aramis' shock.

D'Artagnan was lying, clearly unconscious and badly beaten on the cobbled ground. He was bleeding from a wound to his head, the blood dripping onto the damp stone floor. Aramis knelt beside the still man and gently felt his head for any other wounds.

As Aramis worked, Porthos looked about them. None of the other locals came near, he realised he had pulled his gun without thinking, his need to protect his fallen brother automatic.

'I can't find any other injuries, at least not obvious ones. We need to get him back to the garrison…' Aramis' voice trailed off as he looked up at Porthos.

They both realised at the same time and spoke in unison, 'where's Athos?'

There was no sign of the swordsman.

Porthos continued to scan the people in the market, some were starting to creep closer to them. He noticed a couple of the young men they had fought earlier had returned. The situation could turn ugly at any moment, they were in a vulnerable position. With just the two of them there was no chance of fending off the angry men.

'Messieurs,' a voice from behind them spoke with urgency, 'please, quickly I shall take you back to your garrison. You are not safe here.'

A small old man with a hay cart was beckoning them forward. Aramis nodded to Porthos who turned away from the slowly advancing mob and helped Aramis to pick up the unconscious d'Artagnan. As quickly and gently as they could they lay him on the back of the cart, Aramis climbed up beside d'Artagnan whilst Porthos scrambled up beside the old man who urged the horse on.

Porthos kept his eyes on the crowd, looking for any sign of their missing brother. Much as he wanted to stay and find Athos the atmosphere within the market was too fraught, once he had seen d'Artagnan safely back to the garrison he could return with more men.

MMMM

The two cadets that had helped lay the still unconscious d'Artagnan down were dispatched by Aramis to find Treville who was probably out somewhere in the city. Porthos had ensured that Aramis was content to look after d'Artagnan whilst he returned to the market to look for Athos. Aramis had watched as Porthos had gathered up the few Musketeers who were still at the garrison and left within minutes. Finding d'Artagnan injured and Athos missing was worrying. Aramis hoped their fears would be unfounded, that the swordsman would return to the garrison unharmed, but why would he have left d'Artagnan?

D'Artagnan had not stirred since they had found him. Aramis was not surprised. His face was covered in bruising, his left eye swollen shut, the man was barely recognisable. Aramis went about stripping the young man as gently as he could. Although his cursory examination in the market led him to believe there were no further major injuries it was prudent to be careful.

He had to pull d'Artagnan into a sitting position to remove his doublet and shirt, revealing a sea of bruising across his chest. It appeared to Aramis that d'Artagnan had been kicked, which probably explained the severe bruising to his head. Aramis moved his fingers over the young man's chest, he found two broken ribs and suspected more were cracked. Their young friend was going to be out of commission for some time. Aramis could not help a small sad smile as he imagined what it would be like to keep d'Artagnan in the infirmary, he was usually so animated. The stillness now was haunting.

As he busied himself collecting bandages to bind the injured man's chest and needle and thread for the wound on his head, d'Artagnan stirred.

Aramis was by his side in a second. D'Artagnan was clearly in pain, he moaned but did not try to move very much.

'D'Artagnan…it's OK, you're back at the garrison, you've got broken ribs, try to keep still,' said Aramis in as calm a tone as he could manage.

'He took him,' said d'Artagnan in a weak voice.

Aramis leaned closer.

'Athos…the man took him, carried him away…picked him up like he was nothing…'

'What man?' asked Aramis knowing that any information might help in the search for their missing comrade.

'The big man…bigger than Porthos…took him…carried him away…'

D'Artagnan stilled again, unconscious. The information was scant, but they now knew that Athos was probably not lying injured somewhere, he had been taken, possibly abducted by someone.

But for what purpose?

MMMM

The pain in his head was horrible, he knew that to even open his eyes would be agony. He had experienced concussions before and he knew this was bad. His thoughts would not order themselves. There was an image that kept returning. A hooded figure forcing him back against a wall. The same hooded figure kicking at d'Artagnan. He had wanted to shout out, to get up to fight the man off his young friend, but he could not. That was the last image he could find in his confused mind.

He did not know where he was. He knew he would have to open his eyes at some point, but not yet. He did know he was no longer outside, he was not lying on a cobbled street. He was lying on a bed. He was not cold. If his head did not ache as much as it did he might even be comfortable. But still he did not want to move.

Something cool was removed from his forehead, a few seconds later it was returned. Someone was with him, laying a damp cloth over his head. Was he in the infirmary back at the garrison? Was one of his brothers, Aramis or Porthos, looking after him and d'Artagnan?

Why had they not spoken? Surely, they could tell he was conscious? He wanted to move, to indicate that he knew they were there, but the pain was too much. He knew he was fading again, he was going to pass out again, he hoped his brothers knew he appreciated their care for him.

MMMM

The pain had lessoned enough that he thought he could chance opening his eyes. He cracked them open a sliver. There was light in the room. Natural light, it was daytime. The same day? The next? He could not tell. He opened his eyes a little further, something did not seem right. This was not the garrison infirmary. He did not know where he was.

He tried not to panic, he very slowly opened his eyes wider, gradually getting used to the light. The pain in his head was significantly less than it had been the last time he had become aware. He chanced moving his head, just to the side. Slowly he turned to his right, a small table with an unlit candle filled his vision. Beyond a plain white wall. Nothing to indicate where he was. With an effort he turned his head to the left, nothing but a plain white wall.

He moved his right hand, but found he could only move it a couple of inches. The panic that had been bubbling in the background surfaced. He pulled his left arm and found he could not move that either. With an effort he tried to move his legs, he only managed a couple of inches. The reason, he quickly surmised, was that he was restrained. He was tied to the bed he lay on. Tied at his wrists and ankles.

Athos lifted his head and looked down at his arms and legs, thick rope was wound around each ankle and wrist affording him little movement. The effort of lifting his head and trying to move was proving exhausting. But at the same time, he wanted answers, he needed to know why he was restrained and by who. What had he done to deserve such treatment?

He had been stripped of his outer clothes leaving him in his underclothes and shirt, a blanket laid on top. Looking beyond the bed where he lay he found a window. But only sky filled the glass. He must be in a room on at least the second floor. A door to the left of the window was standing open, he could not see anything beyond it.

Athos lay his head back down, the pain from his concussion still making his thoughts jumbled, and the ache in his head seemed to have become worse since he looked about the room and realised the predicament he was in.

A noise in the next room drew his attention, he turned his head towards the door and watched as a figure entered. A tall broad man with short scruffy hair. He was taller than himself by several inches and a bigger build than Porthos. Athos doubted Porthos would be able to beat this giant in a brawl if the giant had any skills in fighting hand to hand.

The man, Athos realised, must have been the hooded attacker that he had seen so savagely kicking d'Artagnan. The man approached Athos.

But, it was not a man. It was a woman. As she had approached, Athos had noted the womanly gait to her walk and curve of her breasts, hidden under layers of bland clothing. She was the biggest woman he had ever seen. She would tower above any man he knew.

Something in the back of his mind rumbled forward, something that had not occurred to him since he had regained consciousness.

Was this the watcher? Was this the ghost, the shadow he had been so convinced was following him?

MMMM

The woman regarded him. Her lips curled slightly at the corners in a smile. Athos looked at her, he did not understand what was going on. Why had she done this? How had she done this? A woman should not be capable of taking him. He found it difficult to accept that a woman had somehow brought him to this room and tied him to the bed. Why?

He wanted to speak, to command that she release him, but he was not sure his voice would work, that he would be able to speak with any authority. He decided to remain mute. He waited for her to speak first. What she said when she did, surprised him.

'Tell me stories.'

If he could have furrowed his brow without it causing him pain he would have done. Stories? What stories? He continued to look at her. He realised the pain in his head was increasing slightly. The strain of trying to make sense of his situation was affecting him.

'Tell me stories.'

He opened his mouth to speak but could not work out what to say.

The Woman's mouth curled downwards, her eyes changed from showing a glint of excitement to one of annoyance. She reached into her pocket and pulled out two rags. She wadded one up and moved towards him. She grabbed his jaw with one hand and forced his mouth open, he had no strength to fight her, the rag was pushed into his mouth, it tasted of flour. The second rag was wrapped around his head and tied, tightly, keeping the gag in place. He chocked, he had to fight the urge to retch. The pain in his head pounded. His vision was fading.

The Woman scowled at him, she rose from the edge of the bed where she had been perched and stalked out of the room.

When she was gone, closing the door behind her, he managed to regain some of his focus.

Escape.

That was what he needed to do. If only his thoughts would come to him in a sensible order. The image of her kicking d'Artagnan kept surfacing. Had she killed the young musketeer? Athos hated not knowing. Should he be mourning his brother?

Escape.

He moved his right wrist slightly the rope rubbing at the edge of the bed. It would take a while but he could not think how else to free himself. He began methodically moving the rope back and forth. Eventually the rope would wear through. He closed his eyes, relying on his hearing to tell him if she was returning.

MMMM

He was left, tied to the bed, gagged, for a day. He had intermittently opened his eyes and seen the light fade to darkness. Watched as stars appeared and faded in the sky. Watched as the light returned.

The rope was biting into his wrist where he had been moving his hand back and forth. He managed to look down at the rope a few times, the fibres were fraying. But it was slow progress.

As the hours had passed, his head had begun to ache less, his thoughts finally ordered. He wondered again why he had been taken by the woman. He was sure she was alone. Why had she been watching him, what had he done to deserve the treatment he was receiving. And what stories did she want to hear?

The door opened. She walked in. The carried a cup and a jug. She set them down on the small table by the bed. He watched her, hoping she would not notice the now frayed rope near his wrist.

The sat on the edge of the bed, reaching forward she brushed some stray hairs from his eyes before untying the gag and pulling the fabric from his mouth. He swallowed, his throat dry. Her hand lingered about his face, stroking his cheek, the touch tender, gentle. Her expression calm.

He remained still, although he wanted to recoil from her touch he knew he could not escape her.

'Tell me stories. Stories about battles.'

War stories? That is what she wanted to hear. He swallowed again. She poured water from the jug into the cup. She slipped her hand behind his head and with a tenderness that was at odds with her size she lifted his head and brought the cup to his lips.

Athos did not want to give her the satisfaction, he kept his lips tightly shut, tried to move his head away from the cup. Her almost serene expression hardened. She released her hold on him, moving her hand around to press on his collar bone, pushing him down on the bed.

She tilted the cup up pouring the water over his face. As the cold liquid spilled on him he turned his head to the left. Clearly displeased, she grabbed him around the jaw and pulled his head back to face upwards as she continued to pour the water over him.

The cup empty, Athos gasped for air. He had unconsciously been holding his breath at the assault. But the Woman was not finished. She reached for the jug. Athos knew what she was going to do. Her eyes narrowed as she tilted the jug, its contents falling over his face. He spluttered and coughed but she continued to torment him with the water. He tried to move his head but she was too strong for him. He tensed up, trying to bring his arms up, straining at the ropes. He kicked his legs. There was no escape.

After an eternity the jug was empty. Athos spluttered a few times. The Woman forced the gag back into his mouth, tied the rag around his head. He could barely breath, his chest heaving with the effort. For a brief moment he wondered if he would pass out from the effort of breathing, he was glad he had no bruised or broken ribs.

She took the jug and the cup and left the room without looking back. He watched her go as his breathing settled. The pounding in his head receded.

He looked down at his right wrist. The fraying rope his only focus. He went back to the laborious work of trying to free himself. He tried not to think about anything else.

Escape was the only thing he allowed himself to think about, to think about anything else might distract him from his task.

MMMM


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

When they had not been out patrolling and searching for Athos, Aramis and Porthos had taken turns keeping vigil over d'Artagnan. The injured man had drifted in and out of consciousness, they had woken him and forced him to drink a few times. He had asked about Athos once, but they had distracted him. Telling him that Athos was missing whilst he was still concussed and confused would not help him.

Now he was more alert, awake for long enough to be fed a bowl of soup and to drink a full cup of water. Aramis set the cup down and turned to d'Artagnan, he knew they could not keep him in the dark any longer.

'Where is he?' asked d'Artagnan who had clearly worked out that Aramis was about to tell him something.

'We don't know. Do you remember telling me that he was carried away by a big man?'

D'Artagnan slowly shook his head.

'When we found you, there was no sign of Athos. You said a tall man had carried him away.'

D'Artagnan looked away for a few seconds, Aramis could tell he was trying to remember.

'Don't worry about trying to remember, if it comes back it will, but you may not remember what happened at all.'

'I want to help look for him.'

Aramis smiled, 'I know, but you can't. You have broken ribs and you're probably still suffering from the concussion. You're no use out there at the moment. I'm sorry.'

D'Artagnan looked a little defeated but nodded. He looked up suddenly.

'He thought he was being followed.'

Aramis looked at the young musketeer quizzically.

'He nearly put a dagger in me when I surprised him that morning. He was lost in thought at the table. I just put my hand on his shoulder. He had me pinned against the post and his main gauche at my throat…I've never seen him look like that. He actually looked scared.'

Aramis thought for a moment.

'The day before, when we were walking here, he kept looking around. I asked him what the matter was, but he made up an excuse. He must have thought someone was following him then.'

D'Artagnan continued, 'he said it had been happening for a while…he didn't want to tell you.'

'I wish he had. We could have looked out for him a bit better…although I doubt we could have prevented this, and it is not your fault,' said Aramis firmly when d'Artagnan began to look guilty.

MMMM

The dampness had left him shivering. The water had soaked into the mattress but had not dried. He could not move away from the uncomfortable wet patches. He continued to work at freeing the rope on his wrist.

The woman had not returned, he had been left alone for hours. The light dimming again. The rope snapped, his arm was sore from the repetitive movements of the last few hours, but he could not rest, he knew he had to free himself quickly. She could return at any moment.

He reached across to his left wrist and worked the rope free. Sitting up took him a few seconds, he had been lying, prone, for what felt like days. He swayed, his vision fading as he pulled himself up into a sitting position. Once he had regained his equilibrium he reached for his ankles and undid the ropes that bound them to the bed. He pulled the gag from his mouth, his throat again dry.

Slowly he eased himself off the bed, he stood carefully, aware that a sudden change in positions might cause him to pass out. With shaky steps he crossed the room to the window. He looked out. The road below was quiet. There was nobody to signal for help. He tried to open the window but could not. His only option was the door. But she was out there.

He had no choice, he took a step forward only to find the door opening. Her massive frame filling the doorway.

MMMM

Athos was a trained soldier, on any other day he would have had no problem taking on someone of the woman's stature. But he was still recovering from a concussion, and he had not eaten or drunk in days. He knew he would not win. He knew he was too weak to fight the giantess that was moving towards him.

But he would try.

His training taking over he pulled back his arm to throw a punch. One thing he did not have a problem with was hitting a woman. Especially this woman. She was possibly responsible for d'Artagnan's death, she was certainly responsible for badly injuring his young friend.

The punch hit her in the stomach, she huffed out a breath but did not step back. A normal sized person would have been left winded and staggering backwards after being hit. Not this woman, she recovered in a second and reached forward grabbing Athos' shoulders, pushing him back.

He kicked at her, but she dodged out of the way. He tried to sweep her hands off his shoulders by bringing his arms up between them and pushing out, but she would not be moved. She pushed him into the wall then pulled him forward and threw him to the floor he landed hard on his front, not being quick enough to get his arms in front of him to break the fall. Before he could scramble up she had straddled him sitting across his legs pinning him down. She began raining blows down on him, punching and slapping his back, his arms, his head. He tried to claw himself away.

What strength he had seeped away, he stilled. She stopped hitting him. Athos found his breathing was fast, he had to blink several times to clear his vision. The ache in his head had returned, he submitted to it and closed his eyes.

She hauled him off the floor. He was aware enough to marvel at her strength. She manhandled him as if he were a child. She had no issue moving him back onto the bed. The chink of metal had him opening his eyes briefly. She snapped a manacle around each of his wrists and chained him to the bed using padlocks to secure the short chains.

Athos could not remember a time he had felt quite so defeated.

MMMM

When she had left him, after replacing the gag, he had not even tried to move for a while. The utter despondency he felt overwhelmed him. He knew the beating he had received had only left him bruised but it added to the weakness he felt from the lack of food and water during his captivity.

He could hear her in the next room moving around. She had thumped around for a bit clearly still enraged at his attempt to escape. Athos began to wonder how long she intended to keep him captive, what was her ultimate goal?

He realised he needed to placate her. He needed to do as she asked. But to give in to her demand would mean she had won. It meant she had power over him. But, he thought, she already did have power over him. Her sheer size saw to that. He knew he could not beat her physically, he had to try to beat her mentally. Aramis would try to charm her into submission, but he was not as skilled as his friend at seduction. Athos would have to work out a way to trick her into releasing him.

The door swung open, she entered carrying a bowl, steam rising out of it. She perched on the edge of the bed, setting the bowl on the table. He noticed a spoon in the bowl, she obviously intended to feed him. He wondered if she had drugged the food. Much as he wanted to placate her, he did not want to be drugged.

She gently pulled the gag from his mouth, again caressing his face. He did his best not to pull away. Her gentleness was almost as terrifying as her violence. After balancing the bowl on her lap, she raised his head again and lifted the spoon towards him. He refused to accept the offered food, the change in her countenance was instant. She yelled at him, grabbed the bowl and threw the contents over him.

Athos gasped as the near boiling liquid splashed across his shirt, the thin fabric doing nothing to protect him. He cried out in pain. The woman stared at him shocked. She rushed from the room. He was unaware of her returning, but he knew why she had left the room when he found himself soaked again. This time he was covered with cold water, poured hurriedly over the area of his chest and shoulder where the soup had been splashed. He gasped again, breathing hard, the mattress soaked through for the second time.

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'Tell me stories.'

Once he had calmed his breathing he realised she was still in the room with him. She was again sat on the edge of the bed.

'If I tell you about my time on the battlefield, will you let me go?' Athos asked, his voice strained, despite his efforts to speak with authority.

'I will let you sit up.'

'Let me go.'

'Not until after the stories.'

It felt like a small victory. She reached around his chest and pulled him up to a sitting position, the action caused him to wince in pain as the bruises on his back were agitated. He realised she could crush him if she wanted to, he was at her mercy. He hoped his war stories would please her.

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Porthos prowled around the market glaring at anyone who looked as if they were going to protest at his presence. The increase in soldiers in the area had not gone down well in the area. But Porthos did not care, he only cared about finding Athos. His friend had been missing for several days now. The chances of finding him alive were diminishing.

With the little information that d'Artagnan had given them the Musketeers had questions the local people, asking about a big man. No one reported seeing such a man. Porthos wondered if d'Artagnan was mistaken, his concussion confusing his recollection of the attack. The young man had continued to feel at fault for Athos' disappearance despite his and Aramis' efforts to placate him.

A couple of street boys approached him tentatively, he turned to them ready to shoo them away but something about their expression made him pause.

'Monsieur?'

'Yes.'

'Are you the one looking for the big man?'

Porthos nodded.

'We seen a man like that. He don't come out in the day much. He's real big. Bigger than you,' said one of the boys.

'Where does he live?'

'Don't know, never seen him going in any house. He keeps to the shadows, I fink he's deformed,' said the other scruffy boy.

Porthos reached into his pocket and pulled out a few coins. The boys took the money and ran off. D'Artagnan had been right.

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'The battle was fierce, we were outnumbered. I was facing three men. One of them managed to slice his sword across my side, but I could not stop, if I stopped fighting them they would have killed me. One of them tried to slice their sword across my chest, I parried it away with my main gauche and forced my sword into his chest killing him. As I pulled my sword out of his body one of the other men went to stab me with a dagger. There was nothing I could do to protect myself, but the man was shot by one of our marksmen, the musket ball hit his head…'

'Was there much blood?' asked the woman who was listening, enthralled, to every word he said. She wanted details about injuries, she seemed to have a morbid fascination in the deaths of soldiers. If Athos had not already been sure she was insane this would have convinced him.

'…yes, blood sprayed from the head wound. The man fell forwards, dead, leaving me to face the last man who raised his sword above his head. He wanted to bring it down hard on me. I was quicker than him, I stabbed him in the neck…it took him a few seconds to die as the blood flowed from the wound.'

He was tired from talking to her. She had wanted story after story. He had finally allowed her to give him water and broth, in between the stories.

'Please let me go now…I've done as you asked.'

It was a chance he had to take, he did not know how much longer he could keep up the storytelling. Most of his soldiering was mundane compared to what she wanted to hear. He was fast running out of anecdotes to relate to her. He was not a good enough liar to make up stories.

'No. More stories.'

'I remember fighting in a castle, my sword had been lost and I only had my main gauche to fight with…I was backed up into a corner by a man. He was a good swordsman, but he was no tactician. I drew him in, I managed to get him close to me, he thrust towards me with his sword and hit the wall, it was easy for me to step forward and stab him in the stomach.'

'How long did it take him to die?'

'I don't know, I had to leave him there, I had to find my comrades…'

She was clearly not happy with the story. She huffed in annoyance and picked up the gag. Athos did not resist her as she pushed it back into his mouth, tying the second rag firmly in place. She left him sat up, leaning against the wall. He wondered how long she would be away for.

After she had closed the door he looked down at the manacle and the chain attached to the bed. He had to at least try to escape again. If he could ware away the wooden slat that the chain was wrapped around he might be able to get free. It was virtually the same method he had used the last time but it appeared to be the only option he had. In a similar fashion to his previous attempt he began to work the chain back and forth.

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The wood was close to splintering but he was getting weak from the effort of moving the chain back and forth. He had not really thought about what he would do if he managed to get free again. He did not want to think about it. He did know he would have to kill the woman. He could not fight her into submission she was too strong and he was far too weak now to even try.

He looked up unable to hide the guilt as she came back into the room. She immediately saw what he had been doing, the anger and rage showing on her face. The advanced on him, there was nothing he could do to stop her.

With clenched fists she hit him repeatedly on his chest and face. She reached down to his right forearm grabbing it with both hands. He knew what she was going to do, he tensed up as she smashed the limb into the frame of the bed. He knew it was broken as the white-hot pain radiated out. He could do nothing to stop the pull of unconsciousness. He wondered if he would wake up again.

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	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

The daylight penetrated the haze of pain. He slowly opened his eyes. His whole body hurt. The pain in his arm throbbing with each beat of his heart. His head ached, his face hurt where she had hit him, he was sure he had bruised, if not broken, ribs. The ferocity of her attack the previous day matched any beating he had received from a man. The big woman could not be beaten, he was sure of that now. She would kill him, he could not escape, he just had to accept his fate.

'I have a herbal tea…it will help ease the pain. Tell me stories and I will let you have some.'

Athos had not realised she was there, in her usual place, sat on the edge of the bed looking down at him. He managed to focus on her face. He wondered how she had come to be here, he wondered why none of them were aware of her, her size would make her stand out in any crowd. He wondered how he had not seen this giant following him and watching him. He had sensed that he was being followed but how could he not have seen her?

She wanted more stories. He nodded, she rose from the bed and left the room returning a few minutes later with the tea. With the tenderness she had shown several times towards him she helped him to sit up. He realised the chains were gone and he was again bound with ropes to the bed. She knew how weak he was now. He would not be able to repeat his previous escape attempts.

He looked down at his arm and saw she had crudely splinted the break, the bones felt in place, she had set them before adding the splint. Did she had some medical knowledge?

The tea was left on the table to cool, she sat on the bed again and waited expectantly. Athos began relating another anecdote.

'I remember fighting two men with my comrade, he was injured and loosing blood, he collapsed, I had to protect him from the two soldiers.'

'Why not just leave him?'

'Because we do not leave men behind. He is my friend I would not do that. He risks his life for me and I risk my life for him. It is the same for all the Musketeers.'

The woman seemed content with the answer and allowed him to continue.

'I managed to shoot one of the men, I hit him in the chest, close to his heart, he died very quickly. The other man tried to attack my comrade. I managed to push him away and pull my friend up, he was weak but able to stand, I had to hold him up with one arm and fend the attacker off one handed. I managed to keep the attacker away long enough for reinforcements to arrive.'

The woman frowned. Athos knew she had not been pleased with the story. He glanced across at the tea, hopeful that she would still allow him to have it. He knew it was a gamble, but he was in too much pain, he would take the risk that it was drugged. He was on the verge of giving in, he held out little hope of being found.

The woman leaned forward and picked up the cup he held it to his lips. It was still too warm but he drank it anyway. If it eased the pain, even slightly, it was worth the discomfort of drinking it hot.

'Another.'

Athos was almost out of anecdotes, he wondered what she would do to him when he could not come up with any more.

'We were camped in the forest, it was summer, I had taken off my doublet and was preparing a meal for us. We were attacked by bandits. Taken by surprise…'

'How did they take you by surprise?'

'They attacked our sentry, knocked him out. I was unarmed, my weapons were too far away. It was my own fault. My friends were both engaged fighting the bandits and could not help me, I was forced to fight a man unarmed. He came at me with his sword, I side stepped his first thrust but he managed to slice my arm as he pulled back. I had to go on the offensive. I rushed at him, getting caught on his sword a second time but I managed to push him into the campfire, he landed awkwardly, hitting his head on one of the rocks we had used to surround the fire. He died instantly.'

The woman sat forward, 'which arm did you get the injuries on?'

Athos looked at his left arm, she leaned over him and pushed his shirt sleeve up, revealing the two scars he still bore from the attack. Satisfied she sat back. Athos realised he would have to back up any further claims to have been injured. He could not lie to her.

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'Another.'

Athos sighed, 'I have no more to tell you.'

'Another.'

'There is no more.'

Athos was tired, the woman had been making him tell her anecdotes for hours. She had given him more tea which had helped to ease the pain a little, but all he really wanted to do was sleep.

'Another.'

'There are no more…I cannot tell you any more, I have no more to tell. Please let me go.'

It felt so wrong to beg the woman, but he had nothing else to give, he felt thoroughly broken in mind and body. He had been her captive for days now, he wanted it to end, one way or another.

He watched her face contort in rage, her fists clenched, he was only aware of being hit twice before he passed out.

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Porthos watched as the tall man walked along the road, keeping close to the building, in the shadows. They had been patrolling the streets around the market when he had spotted the man. He had stepped out of a house, a hooded cloak pulled about him, his face hidden.

The Musketeers he was with were further ahead, he could not call out to them for fear of spooking his prey. He did not want to alert the man to his presence. The man he was convinced had taken Athos. He watched as the man disappeared down the road. Porthos wasted no time crossing to the door the man had just exited. The building was old, the door easy to force open. He quickly entered, closing the door behind him. The room immediately to his right was empty, dust and cobwebs covering the bare walls and mantlepiece.

He climbed the stairs, he found nothing on the first floor so proceeded to the second, and pushed open the door at the top of them. He found himself in a room with a small hearth, a fire burning within. A pot was hooked above the flames, water gently bubbled, Porthos could smell the herbs in the water. He looked around, his eyes settling on a table by a second door. He crossed to the table and picked up Athos' pauldron, his weapon belt and doublet lay on a chair next to the table, his boots neatly arranged underneath.

Porthos looked at the closed door, he put his hand on the handle, pausing to listen for any sign of the man returning. When he heard nothing, he turned the handle and pushed the door open.

He gasped in shock at the sight that greeted him. Athos was lying tied to a bed, he was covered in bruises. His right arm was clearly broken, it had been splinted and bound with rags. The once white shirt was stained with blood, sweat, and dirt. The skin on his wrists and ankles was raw from rope burns. The bruises of varying shades on his face probably accounting for Athos' current unconscious state.

Porthos set about untying his friend trying to rouse him at the same time by calling his name. As he freed Athos left wrist the injured man stirred. He opened his eyes and managed to focus on Porthos.

'Hey, I'm getting you out of here, just hold on a few more minutes. I've got you.'

Athos shook his head, 'no, you need to go before she comes back, she will kill you. You won't be able to beat her…'

Porthos wondered what Athos was talking about. Had he said 'she'? Porthos knew a woman would not be capable of inflicting the amount of injuries Athos had received. The man must have been ill, delusional from the days of captivity.

He was about to untie the rope around Athos' right ankle when a creak behind him made him turn in time to see an iron bar swung at his head. The bar hit him hard, the force making him stumble backwards to the floor. He had no time to react before the bar was employed again catching his arm, and again across his chest. He tried to reach up to grab the bar but his arm was kicked, away. He turned onto his front in order to scramble up, he was kicked again. The bar struck him across the back, he collapsed back to the floor as the bar hit him a second time across the back. More kicks followed. He managed to look up, only to see a booted foot stamping down on his head.

As the inevitable darkness won out, he thought he heard Athos begging his attacker to stop.

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Athos could not shout, he did not have the strength. He could not take enough air into his lungs to make his voice forceful enough. He watched helplessly as the woman beat Porthos down to the ground, kicking him and hitting him with the poker.

'Please stop…'

The woman struck the musketeer across the back several times, she kicked him and stamped on his head. Porthos was clearly unconscious, perhaps dead, Athos could not tell.

'I have more stories, I will tell you more stories…'

She paused, panting, the poker raised above her head.

'You said you didn't have any more stories.'

'I lied,' replied Athos.

The woman went to hit Porthos again.

'If you hit him again I won't tell them to you, I won't speak to you again, even if you hurt me.'

She straightened and stared at him. She looked back down at the unconscious man at her feet then back to Athos.

'Tell your stories.'

'No, not until you take him back to the Musketeer garrison…just leave him outside.'

Athos knew he was taking a chance, but if Porthos was still alive, it was the only way he could think of to get him to safety. He also hoped that she would not realise that Porthos would be able to tell the others where he was being held, if his friend was still alive. Athos preyed his friend was still alive, he could not see the unconscious man clearly enough to tell.

The woman was thinking about his proposition.

'I'll take him, when I get back, you will tell me more stories.'

Athos nodded. The woman dropped the poker and set about retying the ropes to keep him restrained. Once she was satisfied that Athos would not be able to escape she turned back to Porthos who was still lying on the floor where she had left him. She bent over him and pulled him up on to her shoulder. Athos still could not believe the woman's strength. She was carrying Porthos as if he weighed no more than a sack of grain.

Athos wondered if he could allow himself a little hope that his ordeal might soon be over, his hope clouded by the very real chance that Porthos was either already dead or would not survive his injuries.

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	5. Chapter 5

Authors note: Thanks for all the great reviews. Be warned there is a great big cliché in this chapter…but I could not resist. Forgive me!

Chapter Five

Another search that had proved fruitless. It was becoming harder and harder to face d'Artagnan, thought Aramis. The young man, was becoming quite despondent by the lack of any news about Athos. He had allowed d'Artagnan out of the infirmary, his concussion gone, his ribs mending, but he had not been allowed out of the garrison yet. D'Artagnan had wanted to join the searches but they all knew he would be no use to them in a fight. Each day whenever any of them returned from patrolling or searching, they found him waiting for them eager for news, today would be no different.

As he approached the garrison he heard horse's hooves clopping on the cobbles. He looked around and watched as a big horse trotted passed him. The rider was proportionate to the size of the horse. Aramis could not quite believe what he was watching. The big man had Porthos slumped across the horses back. As he neared the garrison gate he unceremoniously dumped the unconscious musketeer on the ground before turning the horse and moving off again.

Aramis ran the last few yards to his fallen friend. Porthos was badly injured, he had obvious wounds to his head and his clothing was dishevelled and ripped in places. Aramis looked up and watched the horse and rider disappearing along the road. He was torn, the rider fit the description of the man who had taken Athos and was probably responsible for the state Porthos was in, but he needed to tend to his injured friend. He was about to shout out for help as another horse approached him. He looked up.

Treville was looking down at him, as he went to dismount Aramis shook his head and pointed at the rider still visible further along the road.

'I'm sure that's the man who has Athos,' Treville nodded understanding, as he was about to urge the horse forward to follow, Aramis said, 'please come back when you know where he is for reinforcements…I…I don't want to have to deal with another of my friends being hurt like this.'

Treville nodded, 'get Porthos inside, be ready to return with me when I come back.'

Aramis nodded as Treville moved off to follow the big man.

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'There was a riot in the market place on the other side of the city. We had been despatched to keep the peace. Fighting citizens is different to fighting soldiers or mercenaries. We try not to hurt them, they are only trying to live their lives. I was fighting a man who had armed himself with a butcher's knife, I was trying not to get too close to him. I wanted to wear him down rather than fight him into submission. He was determined, he managed to get me pushed up against a market stall, he was wielding his dagger and clearly wanted to do me harm. I grabbed a basket of fruit and swung it around at him, the distraction it caused, it was enough for me to hit him with the hilt of my sword. He was stunned, he fell to the floor and I disarmed him…'

'What was he armed with?'

Athos paused, realising his mistake, he had remembered the anecdote, one of Aramis' assorted tales, whilst the woman was taking Porthos back to the garrison. Now he had related it to her and made a mistake in its telling and she had noticed.

'A dagger.'

'You said a butcher's knife. Different to a dagger.'

'Sorry, I was…mistaken.'

When she had returned she had not mentioned Porthos or the fight, she had simply sat on the edge of the bed and demanded stories. Athos had no idea if his friend was dead or if the woman had taken him back to the garrison. She could have merely dumped him on a street corner for all he knew.

Now she was annoyed at him for making a mistake. He had to come up with another story quickly to calm her down.

MMMM

As soon as Treville returned to the garrison Aramis joined him in the yard, his horse saddled and ready to go. Treville looked passed Aramis towards the infirmary.

'He's alive, but it's bad, he's been beaten, worse than d'Artagnan was. Lemay and d'Artagnan are looking after him.'

Treville nodded as Aramis mounted up and they moved to leave the garrison.

'I would have preferred there to be more of us, he is a big man. I watched him enter a house not far from the marketplace.'

The soldiers were spread too thinly for Treville's liking, given the circumstances. He had men patrolling and searching as well as fulfilling Palace duties.

'Between us, we should be able to take out one man.'

'I hope so.'

They rode in silent determination.

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'An assassin had snuck into the Palace. I was on duty there, guarding the King. It was only the King, myself and two servants in the room when the assassin burst in. The man had two guns, the first he fired went wide of its mark. I grabbed the King and pulled him in front of me as we made our way from the room. As we ran the assassin fired his second gun, I was hit in the back. I was aware I had been hit, but knew I had to get the King to safety. I managed to guide the King towards a group of three other Musketeers who took over protecting him before I collapsed.'

The woman seemed to enjoy the story, Athos silently thanked Aramis for yet another worthy anecdote. Although he was going to run out of the marksman's stories as well soon. What he had forgotten was that she had checked for his scars the last time he had mentioned a physical injury. She leaned forward and started to push at his shirt.

'There is no scar…' he said, knowing she would not believe him.

Her face darkened.

'You're lying to me. You're making things up.'

The woman was angrier than he had seen her in all his days of captivity. She reached for the ropes binding his ankles and wrenched them free, the course fibres of the ropes tugging at the already tender flesh. The rope around his left wrist was similarly yanked off. His right wrist was only loosely tied due to the splint across the broken bone. Once she had freed him she grabbed him around the waist and pulled him off the bed roughly.

He was disorientated by the move but something somewhere told him this might be his only chance at ending his ordeal. He concentrated on getting his feet under him to stand. He mustered what little strength he still had. He willed the last piece of energy in him to come to the surface.

She had hold of him with a hand under his arm supporting him. She drew back her right arm, he thought she meant to slap him across the face. This was it, this would be the chance to end his torment. At that precise moment he did not care if he died along with her, but he had to kill her. She was responsible for harming, possibly killing two of his friends now, he had no qualm about doing likewise to her.

She was stood with her back to the window. He drew in as much of a breath as he could and moved forwards, picking up momentum as he went. She was clearly not expecting the move as she stumbled back. Athos continued to push her backwards. As she hit the window she let him go, with his last ounce of strength he gave her one final push. The window smashed, she tipped over the sill and disappeared from sight.

His breathing laboured, he found his vision fading. He knew he was about to pass out. He did not care.

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The sound of smashing glass had them both looking up. The body fell, hitting the ground a few feet in front of them. They were both dismounted and at the side of the man within seconds.

'It's a woman,' said Treville with shock.

They both looked up at the second story window she had fallen from. Aramis was the first to move to the door of the house, he kicked it in, not bothering to even try the handle. Treville was behind him. They rushed up the stairs, two at a time, reaching the second floor and pushing into the rooms there.

Athos was lying crumpled on the floor of a small bedroom, the fresh air from the smashed window trying to chase away the musty smell that lingered. Aramis knelt by the still form of his brother. Athos was covered in injuries. Aramis did not know where to start. He glanced up at Treville.

'I'll get a cart, we need to get him back to the garrison. I'll come back we can carry him down the stairs together.'

With Treville gone Aramis went about assessing Athos state of health. He had a broken arm which had been crudely splinted. Aramis gently felt the bones and found they had been set correctly. The swordsman's face was covered in bruising, some appeared to be several days old, some were still coming out, perhaps inflicted hours before. He gently pushed up the dirty shirt and found Athos' torso also bruised.

Aramis felt sick. How could a woman have done this to his brother? The giant lying dead on the ground outside was responsible for attacking three of his friends. What had caused her to behave in such a way? He could only surmise that her sheer size had left her an outcast, perhaps she just had a grudge against men?

'She'll come back…' said Athos weakly looking at Aramis.

Aramis was pleased his friend was able to focus on him.

'She's dead. I think you pushed her out of the window,' replied Aramis as he gently brushed a few hairs from his friend's face.

'Ready?' asked Treville from the doorway.

They gently pulled Athos up to stand. With Aramis taking most of the man's weight they slowly descended to the ground floor and out of the door. Athos was barely conscious but even he managed to react when they stepped out on to the street.

The woman was gone.

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When he had opened his eyes to find Aramis leaning over him gently feeling his ribs he wanted to warn him about the woman. Being told she was dead left him with a strange feeling. He could not believe that his ordeal was over. He wanted to sleep, but wanted to stay with Aramis at the same time. He did not want to be alone.

The journey down the stairs had been horrific. He was fighting to stay conscious. He did not want to be any more of a burden to the marksman than he already was. But Aramis had been patient, Treville, walking ahead of them had paused frequently to help steady him and allow Aramis to adjust his grip. They had spoken to him, to keep him alert. Aramis had told him that d'Artagnan was recovering and that Porthos was alive.

Finding the empty street had been a blow, he had felt his knees buckle and Aramis sag slightly at having to take all of his weight so suddenly. Treville was at his other side and helping to guide him over to the cart that stood waiting. They had manoeuvred him onto the back of the cart. Aramis climbed up beside him.

'She was there when I returned with the cart,' said Treville looking around.

'I can't believe she survived the fall,' said Aramis, 'she can't have gone far.'

Treville wandered a little way along the road looking up a side street. Aramis returned his attention to Athos, who was looking beyond the marksman.

She was there, walking up to them, how was she alive? Her face was contorted, there was no hint of the gentleness she had occasionally displayed during his captivity, she was murderous now. And Athos suspected Aramis was her next target. He opened his mouth to warn Aramis who had his back to the advancing danger. The woman was quick she grabbed Aramis from behind. He had no time to react before she smashed him sideways into the side of the cart. He slumped forwards, unconscious, lying prone beside Athos.

The woman had taken a step backwards and pulled a dagger from her belt. Athos was not about to watch another of his friend become seriously injured by the woman. With a steadier hand than he thought possible he grabbed Aramis' gun from his belt.

Athos raised the gun, she was intent on her task, the dagger raised above Aramis. She meant to stab his friend in the back. Athos would not let her be responsible for any further hurt to any of his friends. He now knew that Porthos was not dead, but he did not know how badly injured he was.

Athos fired the gun.

The ball hit her in the head a tiny rivulet of blood found its way down her face. She stared at him. Her face registered shock. Athos had not seen her looking shocked in all the time he had been her captive.

She took a couple of steps back. The dagger was still held high in the air but her firm grip of it was loosening. It fell from her hand clattering uselessly to the ground.

Slowly she sank to her knees. Her eyes never left his. The shock was still there but it was joined by something else; an accusation. Perhaps her final thoughts were of betrayal. He had promised her more stories after all.

She swayed and knelt back on her heels for a few seconds. She swayed again before tilting sideways and crumpling like a rag doll on to the floor. The spark of intelligence fizzled out from her eyes. Her eyes became dull, unseeing.

She was dead. Athos continued to stare at her. Was it really over?

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Authors note: It's not quite over. We don't know the reason why she did it yet, a short epilogue tomorrow will reveal all.


	6. Chapter 6

Authors note: A short epilogue to tie up the loose ends. Thanks again for all the reviews/follows/favourites.

Epilogue

The infirmary ceiling was the most welcome thing he had seen for a week. A familiar voice spoke to him.

'Welcome back. I understand I have you to thank for not being stabbed.'

Athos managed to move his head slightly and found Aramis, an ugly bruise across the side of his face, looking at him with a smile. Aramis had an open notebook resting on his lap, a spidery scrawl of writing across both visible pages.

'Is she?'

'Very dead this time. Treville saw what happened, you passed out with the gun still in your hand. You shot well, considering the state of you, I may have to up my game a little.'

Aramis helped him to sit up, he looked across to the bed next to him, Aramis followed his gaze, Porthos lay on the bed, asleep, stitches evident on his forehead.

'He was awake earlier. It will take a while, but Lemay is confident he will fully recover, as will you. The break to your arm is a clean one and has been set correctly. You have a lot of bruising, you'll have to take it easy for a while, but with a broken arm you won't be doing much for a few weeks anyway.'

'D'Artagnan?'

'He's around, I sent him off for something to eat. He's been blaming himself for you being taken, particularly when he couldn't remember much of the assault on you both.'

'Not his fault. She was…she could have beaten any of us…' Athos paused before saying, 'she did beat us…she hurt all of us.'

Aramis smiled sadly at him, 'and now it's over. She's gone…we did a search of the rooms when we were retrieving your things. It looks like she lived there alone for years. Her parents died and left her the house. She'd been a recluse her whole life. It seems her father was a soldier…'

'She wanted stories…war stories. She made me tell her about battles and fighting.'

'We found lots of notebooks,' continued Aramis holding up the one he had been reading, 'they are full of stories about battles in the last sixty or so years, I think her father must have told her about his time as a soldier. She must have started to write down the ones you told her, they are in here, although some of them aren't yours to tell.'

'Sorry,' said Athos, 'I ran out of my own…she just kept on demanding more.'

Aramis smiled before saying, 'well if you are going to recount my adventures, you could at least get the details correct…I was shot in the arm, not the back when I rescued the King that time. And I did not collapse, I made sure the King was safe before seeking medical aid…'

'You collapsed unconscious at my feet, I remember it well…we were very worried.'

Aramis thought for a moment, before smirking at Athos. They shared a moments silence.

'And one more thing I found in the notebooks,' said Aramis as he reached out to another notebook resting on the bed by Athos.

He opened it up and turned the book so that Athos could see what was on the page. A sketch of a man with the title 'father' written across the bottom.

'Remind you of anyone?'

Athos was taken aback at the drawing of the man he guessed was his captors father. The similarity between himself and the woman's father was uncanny.

'I think, she was looking for a father figure, but had been alone for so long she didn't know how to treat another person…'

Athos looked away, he felt sympathetic to the woman who must have been misunderstood and shunned by society due to her size. But he knew he would not regret killing her, he believed her to be beyond help.

MMMM

'Hey, it's OK,' said Porthos, worry evident in his voice. Athos realised he was breathing hard. He made an effort to calm down.

Porthos had managed to cross from his own bed to sit on the edge of Athos'. He was looking with concern at his friend.

'Bad dream,' said Athos, although he was sure Porthos had worked that out for himself.

'I noticed. You want to talk about it again?'

They had insisted he tell them about his ordeal. Treville and Lemay had told him that to bottle it up would not help him to heal. His physical injuries would all fade but the mental torment he had suffered could linger and none of them wanted him to endure further problems.

He had talked to them each in turn, Aramis had seen him frequently, the bruises on his face fading each time Athos saw him. D'Artagnan had been a little quiet the first time he had visited and Athos found himself firmly telling the young man that what had happened was not his fault.

Porthos, when he was awake, had listened intently to Athos retelling him what had happened and had been grateful for Athos' quick thinking to save his life.

When he found himself with no one to talk to, he had lay on the bed staring at the window opposite. He could see the garrison yard beyond and could hear his fellow Musketeers. The sound of swords clashing as the men sparred or the distant sound of gunfire on the practice range were welcome.

He was grateful for his friend's determination to find him and rescue him. He knew he would recover, but he would not forget the ordeal, the ordeal that very nearly broke him and cost him his life and the lives of his brothers.

But he would recover with their help. He knew he was not alone.

The End


End file.
